


Heartlines

by AJ_Lenoire, NsuYeula



Series: Heartlines [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, look we all need fluff after the last few episodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJ_Lenoire/pseuds/AJ_Lenoire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NsuYeula/pseuds/NsuYeula
Summary: “Come on,” she goads. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Waters?”“Sitting on top of me,” he laughs, then shifts underneath her. “In fact, I think it’s crushing me.”





	Heartlines

**Author's Note:**

> I'll pick you up at midnight;  
> We'll run to beat the sunlight;  
> We only get the one life;  
> And I wanna feel your heartlines;  
> ~ Broods

_Stupid family dinners_ , she thinks crossly. _Stupid family_. She gets a childish thrill out of slamming her bedroom door before she throws herself onto her bed, and lets out a frustrated scream into one of her pillows. She can still hear the arguing going on downstairs; Jon and Sansa shouting at Robb and her mother. _At least someone in this family cares_ , she admits begrudgingly. Two years ago, she never would’ve thought Sansa—simple, snobby, whining Sansa—would actually be fighting in _her_ corner about something.

A whine in her ear brings her back to her own room. Nymeria’s jumped up onto the bed and is nuzzling and licking the side of her face. Sniffing, she rolls onto her back and pulls her beloved pet dog into a hug.

“I wish you were big enough to just eat anyone who annoys me,” she mumbles into Nymeria’s soft fur. “I wish _I_ was big enough.”

One of the few arguments she’d won over the years of butting heads with her mother had been her decision to take self-defence classes and actually learn some martial arts. It was probably only because of Ned and Bran's accident a few months later that her mother hadn’t demanded she stop them; guilt overriding even Catelyn Stark- _née_ -Tully’s deeply-ingrained sense of duty and expectations.

Someone’s knocking on the door. She doesn’t bring her head out of Nymeria’s fur, and when she hears “Arya?” and realises it’s her mother, she remains silent. The knocking continues.

“Arya, come out here, right now. _Talk_ to me.”

 _I have nothing to say to you_ , she thinks venomously.

After another minute or so, the knocking stops, and Catelyn Stark leaves. With a long sigh, Arya flops back down onto the bed and lies there.

* * *

It’s an hour or so later when her phone begins to buzz, and for a moment Arya considers throwing it across the room, sure it’s her mother—or, worse, Robb—trying to talk to her through digital means, since she’s obviously not going to open her door and speak to them in person.

But, she then thinks, if she does that, then she won’t have a phone, and that’s _exactly_ the sort of thing her mother would use against her to get leverage. _You want a new phone? Well_ first _, young lady, you’ll have to do_ this—and no doubt she’d rattle off a list of things Arya had long ago sworn she wouldn’t do.

Looking at her phone, she sees only a single text message of a single sentence.

_Bull:     check your window_

Puzzled, she just stares at the phone for a moment, then pushes herself upright and walks to her window. She’s halfway there when something hits it, clattering against the glass, and she jumps. Huffing, knowing now what she’ll find, she’s not at all surprised, but very delighted, when she pushes the blinds aside and sees a pale face sticking out from the dark shadows of the trees. Even a hundred metres away, behind the fence that marks the edge of Stark Manor’s land, she can see his grin.

Her phone buzzes again, and she looks down.

_Bull:     get dressed_

Looking back up at the window, she nods, now grinning herself, and she catches his wink. Sticking out her tongue, she dashes across her room to her wardrobe, stripping off the old ice-hockey jersey she’d quote-unquote “borrowed” from Jon to use as pyjamas in favour of an old Northlane shirt. Standing in that and her underwear, Nymeria nudges her jeans towards her, and she ponders for a moment, gnawing her bottom lip, then goes for her drawers and pulls out a pair of shorts.

“Oh, shut up,” she tells Nymeria, who cocks her head and gives a small whine, but she’s laughing as she says it. Tugging on the shorts, she glances at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair’s a bit messy so she runs her fingers through it a few times in a vague effort to tidy it.

Getting out of her room is almost laughably easy. Having lived in Stark Manor her whole life, she’s had eighteen years to perfect her route out of the house unnoticed. The detailing on the window-sills form a narrow but sturdy pathway for her to walk across before she gets close enough to the large sycamore about twenty metres away from her bedroom window. Once she’s in the tree, it’s a simple matter of walking to the trunk, shimmying down through the branches, and running for the fence to give her enough momentum to vault over it.

She lands somewhat awkwardly, but he’s there to catch her when she stumbles, and he pulls her into his arms. After the hell that was dinner, she allows herself a few seconds of comfort in his warm embrace for she pulls away and grins at him.

“You know they’d try to arrest you if they caught you,” she says, by way of greeting. He snorts.

“You know they’d ship you off to some ladies’ finishing school if they caught _you_ ,” he counters. Laughing, she aims a kick at his knee, but he knows her well enough and she’s not trying hard enough that he easily side-steps it. When he laughs at her, she shoves him in the shoulders, but he’s larger and stronger than her and barely moves, only looping his arm around her shoulders and leading her through the woods to the sideroad where his car is parked.

* * *

Once inside the car, the mood sobers. They sit in silence for a few minutes, until he finally speaks.

“Jon and Theon came in just as my shift was finishing,” he explains. “I heard them mention something about a huge fight, and I know things have been kind of shitty in the house recently, so I thought I’d come make sure you were okay.”

“Thanks,” she murmurs, taking a sip from the energy drink she’d dug out from the back seat. She drums her fingers on the side, tapping out a simply metallic rhythm, and tries to focus on the cool metal in her palm.

“Mum’s not exactly happy about my decision to go to university next year,” she admits.

He doesn’t look at her, focusing instead on pulling onto the main road, but the it’s deserted and there aren’t any other cars in sight. “We knew she wouldn’t be, though,” he says. It’s not exactly comfort, but she doesn’t want comfort from him. She’s only ever been interested in cold, hard truth.

“It’s not that I’m not going to go at some point,” she mumbles, leaning her head back on the seat. He presses a button and the roof slowly comes down, revealing the night sky and a tapestry of stars. They hear the decisive _click!_ of the canopy locking into place and she closes her eyes as he speeds up, feeling the breeze ruffle her hair. “It’s just that… I want to be me. I want my freedom.”

He nods, understanding and agreeing, but keeps his eyes on the road. Handing her the AUX cable for the crappy speaker he’s wedged into the dashboard, she plugs in her phone and selects a playlist at random. The music is as soothing as the wind between her fingertips as they drive, and she lets her eyes slip closed, pretending for just a moment that she can fly, that she could fly far away from her mother and all her problems.

They settle into a comforting silence, the only noise being the music coming from the speakers and the air around them as they drove. When they turn onto the highway, his hand settles on her thigh. She smiles and congratulates herself on her choice of clothing when she feels him gently stroke the exposed skin of her inner thigh, right over a stick-n-poke tattoo of a dagger that would’ve had her mother screaming even harder than tonight if she knew it was there.

* * *

They’d been coming to this spot for years. First as friends, filled with a need to escape and vent where no one could judge or punish them, later as something more, filled with a need for each other.

The little outcrop overlooks a valley with a handful of a small towns in it, dotting the landscape with lights as if it was the night sky and its stars. Turning off the engine, he finally looks at her, his eyes sad and understanding.

“So… do you know what you’re gonna do?” he asks. She shrugs, moving her hand off his thigh to twine their fingers together. His thumb strokes the back of her hand.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I know I’m going to university—I’m going if I have to get Jon to smuggle me and my stuff out—but…” she trails off, unsure exactly how to voice what holds her back. She doesn’t want to have to choose between her family and the life she wants. But she refuses to settle into the box her mother has tried to make for her.

“I’m not a lady,” she murmurs. “All that shit’s outdated, anyway.”

“No kidding,” he replies, trying to lighten the mood, and she catches his grin. “What else would it be?”

“You always ask such interesting questions,” she remarks, rolling her eyes, but he pulls her from the passenger seat to settle her on his lap, and they gaze into each other’s eyes.

“Y’know, when I first met you, I never thought you were going to be this sarcastic,” he tells her. She gives a laugh and tucks her head under his chin, enjoying the feel of her arms wrapped around him, and the steady rhythm of his heart.

“When you first met me, you didn’t know me,” she tells him. He chuckles and pulls her closer to his chest. They stay there for a long while, just enjoying one another, until he sighs.

She looks up at him. “What is it?”

“We should be heading back,” he answers. “If they catch us—”

“Out here?” she asks. “The only people who know we come here are Jon and Sansa.”

“Sansa doesn’t like me,” he points out. She shrugs.

“Come on,” she goads. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Waters?”

“Sitting on top of me,” he laughs, then shifts underneath her. “In fact, I think it’s crushing me.” Rolling her eyes, she pokes him in the chest, but his smile is contagious. He runs his hands up her sides and she squirms under his touch.

When she leans in to kiss him, it burns like fire and consumes them. His hands wrap around her waist like vices, pulling her against him, and her hands run along his shoulders and the back of his neck, feeling the muscles shift under his skin as he moves. “Gendry…” she breathes, in the moment between one kiss and the next. She has nothing to tell him, she just wants to say his name.

As they move, her shirt hikes up, exposing her belly, and she realises just how much she craves to feel his skin against hers. Her hands go to the hem of his shirt and tugs it up, and she lifts his arms so she can move it over his head and toss it into the back seat. He’s always warm to the touch, warmer than her, but right now, he’s like a furnace, that fire inside him burning out of control as he puts his hands under her shirt and runs his fingers over the slender curve of her stomach, her back, her breasts.

She gasps into his mouth when he slips under her bra. His hands are rough and callused from years of hard work, but his touch is gentle and reverent, and he knows her well enough to know what she likes and how she likes it. She takes off the shirt herself, throwing it into the back to join his, pushing herself against him and arching into his touch.

If she had any doubts about how much he’s enjoying watching her, having her in his arms, touching her, they’re swept away when he bucks up into her, on instinct, and she feels the bulge in his jeans. Before she can put her hand there, he beats her at her own game, and his other hand is rubbing at the crotch of her shorts, and it’s so slight considering the thick material that separates her skin grin his, but it’s _him_ , and he knows her, and that’s enough to send her muttering his name like a prayer.

“P-please—” she gasps out, holding his face in her hands because if his lips leave hers right now she is sure she will die. She feels him grin against her mouth as he kisses her back, and there’s an underlying desperation to it. His hand leaves her breast to curl around her and pull her against him as the other flicks the button of her shorts open and moves to touch her through her panties, feeling the damp patch that has formed there.

“So wet,” he murmurs, voice low and husky. “Is that ‘cause of me?”

“A—arrogant bastard,” she stammers, nipping his neck. He chuckles and pulls back to look at her in the dim light. His eyes are bright with desire as he watches her, her hands clawing at him, running over the smooth skin and hard muscle of his shoulders and back. His face is buried into the crook of her neck, and when he pushes her panties aside and touches her, _really_ touches her, her moan is loud enough to make her blush.

It’s instinct that makes her part herself wider for him, makes her push down harder to feel his hand against her. He knows her, knows her so very well, that he is aware of exactly where to touch her, his thumb gently rubbing in a steady rhythm as he pushes a finger inside of her. Tonight is not the time for games; for long, drawn-out teasing, slowly building each other up and snatching it away at the last moment, reducing one another to quivering messes, thoughts consumed with want. No, tonight he knows she needs comfort, and this is the best way he knows how to give it.

Raising his head, he sees how beautiful she is to watch, and his mouth goes dry as he looks at her, eyes closed, brow slightly furrowed, lips parted and half-mouthing prayers, curses, his name. He ducks his head again, finding her pulse on her neck and kissing there, hard, and one of her hands stops clawing at his back to instead press at the back of his neck, holding him there, head thrown back to allow better access.

“Don’t stop” she demands, breathing ragged. She can feel it in her abdomen, slowly starting to build, and wants nothing more than to chase it.

She feels his smirk into the crook of her neck as he responds, “As you command, m’lady." She tries to swipe at him for using that nickname, but then he picks up speed and suddenly her mind is blank, and she can’t think of anything except how good it feels. She grasps at his shoulders again and moans loudly. He has two fingers inside her now, each thrust of his hand causing her to buck against him. She clings to him, barely able to keep herself balanced, and if not for his arm around her she would’ve fallen off the seat.  The pressure in her lower abdomen is building rapidly and it takes all of her willpower not to fall apart.  She leans forwards, pressing her forehead against his.

“Let go,” he tells her softly. She bites her lip and shakes her head. She can’t—it’s too much—she _can’t_ —

But that is not an option he is willing to give her. “Cum for me,” he says, and the raw desire in his voice makes it sound like a plea rather than a command. Pressing her lips to his, she lets the last of her restraint go, forces herself to relax and just live in this moment, this sensation of him and her and everything.

It doesn’t take long. After a few more thrusts of his fingers, she comes undone. She cries out and he smothers her cry with a kiss, his lips soft as the world goes up in white. He holds her steady as she spasms, stroking her as she rides out the orgasm, then goes limp, and collapses into his embrace. He cradles her gently, resting his face in her hair. She feels his warm breath ruffling her hair and for a few moments, she just lies against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

He eventually moves, a hand reaching down to cup her face. Their lips touch, far gentler than anything else tonight. It’s always an unspoken thing between them. They never dare say the words out loud, but the way he kisses her so tenderly, the way his rough hands cup her face so gently, she knows that he loves her. She kisses him back in kind, wishing they lives in a world where they _could_ say those words.

They just sit there for a while, losing themselves in each other, neither wanting to let the other go. But time waits for no man and no woman, and eventually, Gendry is forced to break the kiss.

“We should probably be heading back,” he whispers, and he runs his thumb across her cheek. She closes her eyes, lets out a sigh. He’s right; her family will flip out if they don’t find her in her bed in the morning, and after today she doesn’t want to deal with more of her mother. But right now, she did not want to leave Gendry’s arms. He smelt faintly of smoke and oil as well as pine leaves. She tilts her head and nuzzles his hand, opening her eyes to look at him.

“Just a little longer,” she whispers.

He knows that this is dangerous. They both knew the consequences of her not being back in her room by the morning. God knows how her family would react if they found out that their daughter was seeing a common mechanic, a nobody a few years her senior. But she leans in to kiss him again and he cannot refuse her.

“A little longer,” he concedes, and he leans up to kiss her as she entwines their fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an accidental collaboration piece between me and my best friend AJ_Lenoire  
> I wrote the core story but was struggling to finish it so she took it and tidied up my bad sentences and fleshed it all out.  
> My Ideas + her God tier skills = This Fanfic
> 
> She claims it was a 50/50 job but seriously go shower her with love and read her other work because she is a far better writer then I am and 100% the reason this story turned out awesome. 
> 
> I love AU Modern Setting stories and there is no way near enough for this couple as I would like. Also this fandom needs just good fluff smut with these two after the pain episode 8x04 put us through.
> 
> You can find me on twitter @NsuYeula


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